Confœderatio Helvetica
by ComradeAngel
Summary: Switzerland and his precious cantons fall to internal strife and foreign invasion in an often untold story of the Napoleonic Era.


**5 March 1798 | Grauholz, Swiss Confederacy**

Basch Zwingli released a storm of curses beneath his breath as he lay on his stomach beneath the dense brush of the forest, observing the French troops taking up formation several hundred meters away. He held his musket so tightly that his knuckles were white. His laser-like glare was directed towards a tall, rather handsome blonde man in a blue and white uniform who sat upon a white horse. The man's blue eyes surveyed the lines of soldiers; he was smiling.

"That cocky little-" Basch began, only to have a hand slapped over his mouth.

He leered at the teenage boy laying beside. While Basch himself barely appeared eighteen years of age himself (when in reality he was older than many of the European powers), the boy beside him had the appearance of a fourteen or fifteen year old; his face was round and he had big, green eyes that were partially covered by brown bangs. He wore the same coat as Basch - a very dark red with a patch on his right shoulder depicting a lighter red shield with a golden slash going diagonally through it, with a black bear imposed on and at the same angle as the slash, symbolic of the flag of the Canton of Berne, and of the Bernese Resistance. The boy beside him was Berne, Jens Faust, one of the many younger national entities Basch called a his younger sibling. Jens had been there nearly from the beginning, centuries ago, when Basch was scared, alone, his only other friend being Austria, who becoming increasingly cold and hostile. It had been Jens who had convinced the other cantons that Basch could protect them; that the cantons should all work together for the benefit of all of Helvetia - that was what Rome had called the area where they all lived, Helvetia.

But now, hundreds of years of bloodshed, turmoil, and progress was being undone in the course of a few months. The French Republicans had decided that it would be a good idea to expand east, to 'liberate' the oppressed peasants of Switzerland from their supposed aristocratic overlords;. This invasion had not spurred many Swiss into taking up arms against the French, however; no, the cantons had all turned on each other for every reason from religion to wealth. Berne, Jens, was the only one who had either not immediately capitulated or been crushed within days or even hours of French armies reaching their lands.

Holding his rage in check, Basch merely nodded to Jens, who removed his hand, and the two stealthily returned to the camp made by the Bernese Resistance. As he and Jens walked through the 'streets' between the tents and pavilions, Basch glimpsed inside of the various shelters; his stomach turned at the large amount of elderly and women he saw within the various tents - there were even children. Local townsfolk and Bernese, untrained in the use of a cannon, musket, or even sword. Basch was sure that if he allowed them to fight, they would be slaughtered. A young boy scampered by, holding a musket horizontally at his waist that was at least as tall as him, into the arms of his waiting mother, who stood near her own musket, which was leaning against the trunk of a tree. These people were so afraid of losing their homes and their freedom that they were willing to risk everything to fend off the French. The woman looked solemnly at Basch and Jens as the passed, and Basch was forced to look in the other direction.

"They'll probably attack before noon." Jens said as they walked. "We should organize the...the troops."

Basch simply nodded and requested for a nearby regular, one of the terribly few professional soldiers in the Resistance, to sound the trumpet for the men to gather. And the women. And the little ones. Hundreds of people began streaming past them to gather in the small clearing the made up the center of their camp. Roughly 2,000 in total, Basch figured, from the original 6,000 that had fought at Fraubrunnen earlier that week.

"Commander Zwingli!"

Vash turned towards the man who called him; an average sized man in a white military uniform that was, in Basch's opinion, far to similar to that of the French, approached him and Jens.

"Colonel Faust." The man nodded to Berne.

"General von Erlach." Basch greeted the man, noting disapprovingly that he lacked a musket. "I trust that you are prepared for battle?"

"I have to be. I'm just afraid that these poor folk are not..."

Basch, scanned the 'troops', who had formed a disorganized crowd before a small, hastily constructed stage. So few uniformed regulars.

Von Erlach cleared his throat. "We've divided our forces into twenty companies. You know the terrain and you've seen the French forces - I entrust the plan of battle to you."

Basch nodded, suddenly sick to his stomach, and stepped up onto the stage, walking to the center of it, musket slung across his back and hands folded behind his back. Jens took a similar pose a few feet behind him. He surveyed the mostly solemn faces of the people he was preparing to send into battle. He cleared his throat and raised his voice so all could hear him.

"So, this is it - two thousand Swiss peasants against eighteen thousand French regulars. Won't it be awfully embarrassing when they lose?"

He actually garnered a few smiles.

"Grauholz is nothing more than a wooded hill. A very defensible position that the French, the moronic oafs, aren't using to their advantage in the slightest. Once we move out, Companies _Eins bis Funf_ will take position on top of the hill, while Companies _Sechs bis Zehn_ will cover their western flank; likewise, Companies _Elf bis Funfzehn_ shall cover their eastern flank. Companies _Sechzehn bis Zwanzig_ shall remain in reserve to reinforce any company which requires it."

Not so coincidentally, the reserve companies contained nearly all of the elderly, women, and children.

A trumpet-blower made to command the mobilization of forces, but Basch's glare stopped him. Basch looked towards the crowd again.

"These French invaders...they call us primitive. Feudal. Opposed to progress. But tell me how killing a man for worshiping God in a a different colored church than yours is progressive. Yes, we have had our injustices. Yes, we've mistreated the people of Vaud. Perhaps there are cantons which welcome French rule, or have submitted without a fight - they are cowards. Our ancestors do not hail from the same lands, and we do not all speak the same language like the French, but that is the beauty of our God-blessed confederacy! Most of us are as different as we could possibly be, and yet for centuries we have loved and defended each other as part of a greater alliance! If the ability to work together without an absolute dictator is primitive, then I don't want to be 'progressive'! So, if these silly little '_politicians_' and '_philosophers_' in Paris want to plant false notions and blatant fallacies in the minds of the Swiss people, so be it, let those men be sheep! However, as long as I stand, I refuse to allow to the Canton of Bern, nor the dream of the Confederation to fall to a bunch of cheese-eating, wine-swilling, idiotic surrender monkeys that think that they know what's best!"

Basch had successfully rallied a chorus of cheering and applause. He shouted one last phrase as the trumpet sounded.

"_GOTT MIT UNS!"_

* * *

Basch uttered a string of curses, but this time there was nobody to stop him. Jens Faust, the Canton of Berne, was being carried on Basch's back, bleeding profusely all over his body, with massive wounds continually opening up; occasionally he would tense up and wail in pain, then go completely limp, allowing his arms to fall from their position around Basch's neck, forcing the Swiss to stop and readjust the younger boy to prevent him from falling off.

It had been one day since nearly a thousand Bernese troops had perished at Grauholz, the French smashing through their defense with sheer numbers and artillery and swiftly moving on towards Bern. Since then, Basch had been carrying a near-death Jens through the forest, southwards, where it was rumored - according to the dozen or so residents of a village they had passed through - General von Erlach was reorganizing a resistance movement. The city of Bern had been invaded and set aflame by French troops. God was not with them as it began to thunder and pour a torrent of rain.

Jens let out yet another pain-filled wail; a wail that carried intense sorrow as well. Burn marks had begun appearing all over his body.

Basch suddenly tripped over a tree root, falling forward and face first into a pile of fresh mud. He groaned, finally unable to ignore the massive pain that wracked his entire body. He had to be strong. For Jens. For everyone. Jens rolled off of Basch's back; the Swiss scrambled to his feet, only to be struck with the but of a musket on the side of the head, sending him twirling several feet forward and causing him to fall on his butt. Before Basch were four French soldiers, aiming their muskets at him, unconcerned with the incapacitated Jens. The soldiers stood in two pairs, on either side of a certain blonde Frenchman. The man who rode the horse just a day earlier.

"Francis Bonnefoy." Basch growled. The Swiss was without a weapon. No matter - he would strangle Francis with his bare hands.

Francis produced a pistol from his coat and held it up as if to say "got'cha" in response to Basch's thoughts.

"Basch Zwingli. You've certainly been a bad boy, haven't you?" Francis asked. He was drunk on himself. Filled with a sense of self-importance and accomplishment. "Making me chase you all the way out here. Bern has surrendered. The rest of Switzerland is nearly under my control. It. Is. Over."

Basch shook his head rapidly. "NO! NO! GOD DAMN YOU! YOU, RODERICH, GILBERT, IVAN, ALL OF YOU! YOU BURN DOWN MY COUNTRY IN A WAR I NEVER WANTED TO BE INVOLVED IN! DAMN YOU ALL!"

"_Oui, oui_. Throw your hissyfit. Get it out of your system."

He smiled.

"General von Erlach is dead, by the way. Ambushed and executed by his own people."

Basch clenched his fists, and for several seconds believed he could control himself. He was wrong. With a mighty roar he leaped to his feet and charged towards Francis. Four musketballs hit him at once in various parts of his abdomen, stopping him in his tracks and throwing him onto his back. He tried to keep fighting, to move, to do anything. Spit at the Frenchman. But he couldn't. He was immobilized.

"You're going to be my servant; I hope you understand your new role." Francis said, a whimsical tone to his voice as he crouched beside Basch. "The French Revolution is a glorious thing - you'll see. Soon the whole world will be following our example. Oh, but we can't have a member of our revolution named 'Switzerland'. It sounds so ugly. Crude. Oh! I know! How about 'Helvetia'? No, too watery. 'Helvetica'!"

Basch could do nothing but listen to Francis ramble.

"Now, sleep tight my little Helvetica."

With that, Francis brought the butt of his pistol down on Basch's forehead, knocking him out.

* * *

Switzerland would soon be renamed the 'Helvetic Republic', which attempted to impose a central constitutional authority, backed by French military might, over the historically sovereign Swiss cantons. The Republic existed as a state for only five years and failed to achieve widespread popular support among its citizens, many of which revolted against their new French overlords due to the many unpopular 'progressive' ideals the French imposed. On February 19, 1803, the Act of Mediation, issued by Napoleon Bonaparte who deemed Switzerland "federal by nature", restored the cantons. With the abolition of the centralized state, Switzerland became a confederation once again. This intermediary phase of Swiss history ended in 1815 with the Congress of Vienna, in which Swiss territory was enlarged, and Swiss neutrality was established.

So, in a way, Roderich was Basch's savior.


End file.
